


Destinies Thwarted, Rebuilt, Reclaimed

by Vertumn



Series: Etheria Rebuilt, Reclaimed [3]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Cognitive Dissonance, Gaslighting, Gen, Internal Monologue, Introspection, POV Second Person, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertumn/pseuds/Vertumn
Summary: Your time will come again. Catra will not last long as Hordak’s second in command, for the girl’s contrariness recklessly overrides her self-preservation. Very few can outlast Hordak’s games and whims, and fewer still can return from such a fall from Hordak’s grace. Perhaps, even, Hordak will deign to remember Adora’s existence and visit misery upon the one responsible for losing her.





	Destinies Thwarted, Rebuilt, Reclaimed

You bide your time.

This is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending; yes, yes, this is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending. Let them think that Hordak has crushed your will, that you are nothing without the Black Garnet’s power electrifying your blood, that you will languish here forever. This _benefits_ you.

This benefits you. This is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending. This benefits you. This benefits you. Your limbs do not subtly spasm—well, perhaps they do, perhaps… but this is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending. Your limbs only spasm a little, just a little; this is nothing like…

> like…
> 
> like….

You blink. Your breaths and heartbeat almost deafen you. Is there anyone else here, there, somewhere? Does the world exist? Does your body exist?

Of course it exists. Your limbs spasm only a little, and pain means nothing except that you are alive.

Pain means nothing. You live. You inhale, exhale. Something drips, somewhere. The tremor of your limbs marks another minute, another second, another moment you spend apart from the Black Garnet. A familiar pain; yes, it is a familiar pain.

This is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending. What does a little bit of pain mean when you have more important things on your mind? After all, did you not endure far worse—yes, far worse—before you took the name Shadow Weaver? Were you not tired of being subservient to Hordak’s whims? Have you not long since ceased to care about the Horde?

Oh, you still governed and groveled and all that rot; the benefits of the Fright Zone had outweighed your distaste. As Hordak’s second in command, you were able to explore the deepest and darkest magics of Etheria without some meddlesome council or sorcerer disapproving and fretting about the state of your mortal soul or whatever nonsense they spouted to keep the populace under their heels.

However, your loyalty, your passion, your raison d’être?

Those all belong to Adora.

Perhaps one could say that _you_ belong to Adora, to that wee babe that Hordak stole and gave to you to raise.

> The Black Garnet screams your name, demands your blood, your will, your _life—_
> 
> —A shudder seizes you from end to end—
> 
> —maybe you scream, or maybe you do not exist, or maybe your raw vocal chords leave you choking on saliva and blood and tears—
> 
> No. Not tears. What use are tears? Even Adora does not stoop to the indignity of crying.

Perhaps you belong to Adora, to that tiny infant that Hordak stole and gave to you to raise.

Do not mistake this for a mother’s love, or a father’s, or a parent’s. None of that, here. This is the love that the darkness has for the light that feeds them, the hate that the shadows have to the brightness that creates them, the apathy that evil has for good. You simply cannot _be_ without Adora, Adora, _Adora!_

Those fools in Mystacor like to say that you were cast out, that evil corrupted your power, that you tragically squandered your potential. Lies, of course. You left of your own accord; yes, yes you did. Their distaste for the darker magics is their loss. Are you not vastly more powerful as Shadow Weaver than you ever were as Light Spinner?

Being Shadow Weaver was exhilarating, for a while. You were free to roam domains previously scorned and scorched by the light. Exhilarating, and then… monotonous as you settled into Hordak’s Horde as his second in command. You were simply another tendril of the darkness that is the Evil Horde; an extension, if you will, of Hordak’s shadow. Undifferentiated from the multitude. Unremarkable, despite your mastery over the Black Garnet. Unsatiated even though you had more or less free rein to maim and manipulate and abuse as you please. You realized that shackles of a different kind curtailed your freedom.

It cannot be coincidence that Adora came into your life just then. You were above the rearing of a child—the Shadow Weaver, a mere nanny? Preposterous, and an _insult_ —but the Lord Hordak commanded. You obeyed, though it rankled in your throat to debase yourself. You took the child directly from Hordak’s arms, and…

Adora saved you.

Adora saved you and now she is _yours_ —such white light, those electric blue eyes, that implacable will that only lacks direction to truly showcase its fury—all _yours_ , and how dare that silly sword interfere!

You have to pause to stabilize your breathing. No, you just… you just pause.

You pause. You remember to breathe. You notice your body shivering. Are you cold? Are you hungry? Are you tired?

You blink, and pull your thoughts back into your mind. This is easier, better, far more tolerable than pretending. You bide your time. You curse that sword, that sword, that sword which took away your sun.

What is the darkest night but the antithesis of the brightest day?

> It screams a wordless, endless, implacable scream.
> 
> Your ears will bleed, your lungs will collapse, your life will—
> 
> —“Her name is Adora.”

This you knew from the moment you took Adora, levitating her above your hands to quell the infant’s indignant cries: it was your destiny to outgrow the mantle of Light Spinner. As a being of light, you would have been washed out by Adora’s luminance, but as a being of darkness her incandescence throws your edges into exquisitely sharp relief.

You took the other one, Catra, as a second ward only because you needed a buffer from that light. Elsewise you would have gorged yourself too quickly, much too quickly. A buffer, then a foil. Every misery visited unto that one accentuated both your own cruelty and Adora’s kindness—it was the perfect arrangement. One that unfortunately came to an end, as a direct result of your ward’s idiocy. You should have separated them once Adora’s affection for the girl overrode her respect for you.

Children respond so, so easily to grooming. A touch-starved, love-starved child will forget everything with the judicious use of a few kind words and tactical gentle touch; they know nothing else. A touch-starved, love-stared adolescent, however, holds a dangerous spark of free will; in packs, that spark can grow into an uncontrollable blaze.

That is where your plans went awry. The silly girl incited Adora to foolishness, and that foolishness opened the door for _it_ —

She-Ra.

You want Adora.

You want Adora.

Want, want Adora, Adora, _Adora!_

§      §      §

But not the She-Ra. It is the She-Ra that must go; yes, yes, the She-Ra must go.

Your time will come again. Catra will not last long as Hordak’s second in command, for the girl’s contrariness recklessly overrides her self-preservation. Very few can outlast Hordak’s games and whims, and fewer still can return from such a fall from Hordak’s grace. Perhaps, even, Hordak will deign to remember Adora’s existence and visit misery upon the one responsible for losing her.

As long as she keeps you in her orbit, and you keep her in yours, then all that is good and righteous in Adora will highlight all that is bad and corrupt in you.

Let Adora keep her bleeding-heart morals.

You bide your time.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that maybe this one doesn't thematically fit in this series, but maybe it kind of does....
> 
> Also, I have a few hundred words for something on Perfuma that may or may not become a fourth installment of this. Still working out a theme on that one.
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
